.i think i'll go home and mull this over

It's too bad that I'm under a gag order currently, or I could write a blog entry that might be up for a Pulitzer Prize. It would at least give Days of Our Lives a run for its money.

But due to said gag order, I'm not at liberty to discuss the batshit craziness of the past couple of weeks. Fine. I'm good at being obtuse.

There's a lot to be said about learning to keep one's head down. There's even more to be said about keeping your head down but keeping your ears open. I've lived and been in many places, and while I don't exactly have the years behind me to claim wisdom or anything sensational like that, I know from my travels that each place, each city and village and farm, has its own rhythm. In my opinion, anybody from any country can live with a modicum of happiness anywhere, so long as they can figure out the rhythm and at least attempt to move with it. Doesn't have to be dancing. Foot tapping will often do the trick.

But a city rhythm can provide more than just a guide to style of life. There's information out there, in the way that people move down the street, the operation of liquor shops, and the angle of slouch the people drinking vodka on the street corners display at three in the afternoon. Kind of like watching a sundial's shadow tell the time.

Moral of the story: we shall see.

And I wish I could publish the truth, but I can't. One day, maybe. For now, though, the sun rises, the drinkers slouch on their corners, and life soldiers on.